The Girl with the Amber Comb

‘Of course, I do,’ she cried, for he really was her best friend and, as he helped sell the extra vegetables she grew, her business partner too. Seeing hope flare in his eyes, she knew she had to stop him from saying anything further. ‘You’re the brother I never had, Willow Man,’ she replied, using her pet name for him. There was silence for a moment then he got to his feet.

‘That’s something I suppose,’ he sighed. ‘Enjoy the rest of your birthday, Red.’

‘But I thought you were staying for supper,’ she called, as he made for the door.

‘If you want your letter and supplies delivered today, I’d better get going. Tell George I’ll have that talk with him next year. It’d probably a bit insensitive now anyhow.’

‘What talk?’ she asked but he was already outside hefting the sack over his shoulder. Picking up his unfinished trap, she continued weaving, her thoughts running amok. While she had great affection for him, she couldn’t even think of furthering their relationship at this time.

‘Somethin’ smells good,’ George said sniffing the air appreciatively as he shuffled wearily into their tiny living room. Throwing his battered felt cap down onto the settle, he noticed the table set for two and frowned. ‘No Clem?’ he asked.

Eliza looked up from the pan where she was frying the eel Old Conger had skinned and presented to her as a birthday gift. Luckily, she’d just managed to finish both traps before he’d arrived.

‘He was delivering my letter and vegetables to Stoke for me,’ she replied tipping the sizzling food onto two plates. George frowned again, sinking into his chair and barely giving his supper a glance. He waited whilst Eliza poured tea from the pot then stared at her questioningly.

‘Been bossing him about again have you?’ he asked, hazel eyes sharp as they bored into hers.

‘Not at all, although he was acting strangely today. Kept going on about us being friends when we’ve known each other since school. Oh, and he said something about having his talk with you next year, whatever that means. Seeing her Gramfer’s frown deepen, she changed the subject. ‘We might not be able to afford to have the traditional goose for Michaelmas Day but this eel’s really tasty with the taiters fried alongside, don’t you think?’

To her relief, he nodded and began tucking into his meal. He was looking pensive though, and Eliza had a feeling the subject wasn’t over. Sure enough, as soon as he’d finished eating, he pushed his plate to one side.

‘That were grand, Eliza.’ He sat back in his chair and began stroking his beard, a sure sign something was troubling him. ‘Hard to believe you’re seventeen, young lady. Did I tell you that your grammer were the same age when we wed? Right bonny she was, flaxen hair curlin’ round her head like a halo, lips red as the ripest cherries. Didn’t stand a chance when she looked in my direction, I can tell you. We had a good marriage,’ he sighed and stared into the fire. Then pulling himself back to the present, he leaned forward and patted Eliza’s hand. ‘Want the same for you now. And young Clem—’

‘Is a friend,’ she butted in. ‘A good friend, but that’s it,’ she added firmly.

‘And that’s a very good foundation on which to base a marriage. It’s not all hearts and flowers, you know.’

‘Look Gramfer, I’m not ready to begin thinking about marriage. ‘It’s bad enough I’ve had to give up the job I loved.’

‘Oh yes, sorry, I forgot,’ he mumbled, his brow puckering.

‘I’m happy taking over the basket business but one day, I want to go out and meet new people like Mammer did.’

‘Pastures new aren’t always greater or greener. Sometimes they’re full of prickles and creeps, folk who take advantage as Della found out, to all our costs,’ he sighed.

‘Yet you let her go and find out for herself,’ she persisted.

‘Couldn’t stop her. Wilful as an unbroken filly she was.’

‘I know you and Grammer have lived here all your lives but—’

‘Now that’s where you’re wrong, young lady,’ he exclaimed, cutting her short. ‘We haven’t always lived in a dank cott like this.’ He grimaced and waved his hand around the shadowy, smoke filled room. ‘Moved here from Bridgwater when Della got herself … well we moved away from the nosebags to spare her reputation. Cors we didn’t know there’d be … complications,’ he shook his head and sighed again.

Assuming he was referring to her mother dying in childbirth, Eliza nodded and remained quiet.

‘Started out by rentin’ a few withy beds,’ he went on a few moments later. ‘And through sheer hard work, managed to buy and increase them year on year. Now our plot extends as far as you can see. Mary, bless her, supported my venture by learnin’ the basket-making from old Harry in Worth.’

‘I never realised,’ she murmured, taken aback by his revelation. She’d never dreamt they’d lived anywhere other than on Sedge Moor.

‘There’s a lot you don’t realise, my girl. Now my Mary’s been taken, tis up to me to see you settled before I’m called to join her. When Clem said he wanted to talk about your future, I were that pleased I intended giftin’ you my withy beds. Thought it’d give you a good start so you won’t have to scrimp and save like we had to. He’s a good fellow, one of the best. Works hard making all them deliveries along the Parrett on his father’s barge then navigatin’ the narrow rhynes on his trow. Which he bought through his own efforts. He’ll make a fine husband, girl, mark my words.’

‘Some day, maybe,’ she agreed, to appease him. ‘But just now isn’t the time to think about it.’

‘Well, don’t dally too long, Eliza. I hear young Bethan’s set her bonnet at him and her brother’s encouraging her. They’ve only been in Stathe a few months and she’s not wastin’ any time.’

‘Well, not having a brother, I shall have to make my own choice, won’t I?’ Eliza retorted. Her gramfer winced, clutching at his chest so that she wished she hadn’t spoken so brusquely. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, patting his shoulder. He smiled at her sadly through rheumy eyes.

‘Just think on, Eliza. Clem passes by their cottage most days. Happen he’ll not wait around for a hurdy ’ead like you to make up her mind.’ Eliza grimaced at the reference to her wild red tresses. Although her grammer had insisted they were one of her best assets, she considered them the bane of her life. ‘Still, I’ve no right to expect you to stay here. I’m quite capable of lookin’ out for myself,’ he declared stoutly.

‘Oh Gramfer, there’s no need, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,’ she assured him. Even as she uttered the words her heart was sinking lower than the uppers of her well-worn boots as she saw her dream disappearing. But he’d looked after her since she was born and it was obvious that the loss of his beloved wife, along with years of being out in all weathers, were taking their toll. Not that he’d ever admit it. However, she loved him dearly and it was now her turn to care for him. Summoning a smile she patted his hand, and eyes suspiciously moist, he turned away.

‘Fire’s smokier than ever this night,’ he grunted.

Giving him time to collect himself, Eliza pondered on her future. Perhaps when her gramfer had had time to adjust, and the outstanding order from Longstones was fulfilled, she could go and see the school mistress, ask if she’d consider re-engaging her for a few hours a week. Their humble home wouldn’t take long to clean, apart from those cursed cobwebs, she thought watching them swaying like filmy ribbons of lace in the draught from the chimney.

‘Nearly forgot,’ Gramfer said, smiling as she refilled his mug and sat back down beside him. ‘Mrs Finch’s darter’s expecting and she’d like you to make one of them virtue rattles for her future grandchild. Over the moon she is. Must be nice to have something to look forward to,’ he smiled, his features softening. Eliza smothered a sigh, all too aware of where his thoughts were taking him.

‘Well that is good news,’ she agreed.

‘And everyone’s rallying round to help. Parsonage Farm have placed an order for ten sparrow traps,’ he added. ‘Not only that, Longstones are fed up with them shoddy laundry baskets Old Gliddon supplies and have transferred all of their orders to us. They’ve customers all over the county so that should put welcome coppers in the coffers. I only hope we’ve enough withies to keep us going until we harvest the new ones in December. Perhaps we could start early. I’ll check the leaves come mornin’.’

‘In that case we are both going to have a lot to do so we’d best have an early night. Good night Gramfer, try and get some sleep,’ she said quickly as she bent and kissed his whiskery cheek.

‘Night Eliza. Clem’s a fine man and thinks the world of you. But he won’t wait for ever.’

Up in her room, breath spiralling in puffs before her, Eliza quickly changed into her calico nightgown. Too cold and dispirited to give her hair more than a cursory brush, she dived beneath the covers of the iron bedstead, pulling the patchwork cover right over her head. Her dream of resuming her position at the school had disappeared almost as soon as the idea had occurred, for now it seemed she was going to be busier than ever. Closing her eyes tightly to stop the tears escaping, she hardly heard the birds scrabbling in the old thatch above her or the mice scratching in the walls.

‘Oh Grammer, why did you have to die?’ she sobbed.

Chapter 3

Next morning with the sun promising to break through the mist, Eliza determined to give their living room a thorough clean. She smiled, recalling her grammer’s fierce pride in keeping the place spick and span. Tidy house, tidy mind, had been her mantra.

Brushing the cobwebs from the beams, she thought back over the previous night’s discussion. It had been a shock to discover her grandparents hadn’t always lived here and she wondered what their lives had been like in Bridgwater. If her gramfer didn’t look too downcast when he came in for his midday meal, she would ask about it. Talking about the past might be good for him, she thought, dragging the rush mat outside and throwing it over a bush.

Snatching up the beater she gave a fierce thwack sending dust and ash rising into the air, coating the golden leaves grey. A sudden gust of wind shook the branches, dislodging the mat. Eliza cursed as a cloud of the smitch blew back into her face and clung to her curls. No wonder her grammer always covered her head with a mob cap, she thought giving another whack.

‘Hey, watch what you’re doing,’ a voice shouted.

‘Sorry Clem,’ she called, grinning as he coughed and thumped his chest. ‘That’ll teach you to sneak up on me.’ He snorted then turned to face her, his expression changing to one of mirth.

‘You’re blacker than a beast from the bogs,’ he hooted.

‘And you don’t look so good yourself,’ she giggled, pointing to the dirt clinging to his clothes. ‘What are you doing back so soon?’

‘George sent a message for me to fill your stack. Reckons weather’s on the turn,’ he replied, unloading turves of peat from his trow that was lying perilously low in the water. Eliza stared up at the sky, cobalt blue now that the mist had lifted.

‘That’s odd. It looks to me like this good weather’s set to last,’ she replied.

‘He doesn’t usually get things wrong,’ Clem muttered pushing his cloth cap to the back of his head. ‘By the way, here’s the money for the carrots and potatoes,’ he said, diving into his pocket and handing over a few coins.

‘You haven’t taken your cut,’ Eliza reminded him. ‘We are meant to be business partners after all.’

‘Mrs Gill’s sent an order for onions and turnips, and Ma’s short of some too, so if I can take her a few, that’ll square things.’

‘Deal. You can dig them up while I fill the sacks. Then I really must get on with making those baskets. I don’t think Gramfer realises how difficult it will be for me to fit everything in, for he’s accepted yet more orders.’

‘We’d best get on then,’ Clem replied, following her round to the higher ground at the back of the cott where the vegetable plot stretched halfway across their field to the orchard. Clem looked thoughtful as he took up the fork and began lifting the vegetables. Eliza was loading the pungent onions into the hessian sacking, when he turned to her.

‘This ground is very fertile and your vegetables are in demand. I know you’re busy but have you thought of extending the plot for next year? It would give you more income.’ And more work, Eliza thought, though there was no denying the extra money would be useful.

‘Seeing as it’s your bright idea, you can help me dig it over next month. After you’ve helped me pick the apples,’ she grinned, nodding towards the laden trees beyond.

‘You’re a slave driver, Red, do you know that?’

‘Bit of hard work never hurt anyone, and think of all those scrumptious pies and crumbles,’ she quipped, knowing his fondness for puddings.

‘You win, as always,’ he sighed. ‘Now, before you find me another job, tidy up here while I unload the rest of the peat,’ Clem said, putting down the fork, and throwing the full sack of vegetables over his shoulders.

‘Suppose you want a drink now?’ Eliza asked, when he’d finished restocking their peat stack. He looked up at the sun that was nearly overhead then shook his head.

‘Best not, I’ve more deliveries to make for Father,’ he sighed, climbing into his trow. ‘I’ll make sure I have time to stop next time and we can finish that conversation we began in the barn.’ Giving her a meaningful look, he picked up the oars.

She watched as he pulled away from the bank then bent and rinsed her grubby hands in the water. Clem and his talks, she thought, shaking her head then grimacing at the dust that fell onto her shoulders. There was no time for hair washing, she needed to make a start on that rattle for Mrs Finch’s grandchild. Bending down, she searched around until she found seven smooth pebbles, then made her way to the barn.

As ever, the tang of tannin in the air focused her thoughts. Selecting seven suitable withies, she dropped down onto her stool and began weaving the rods in and out to create the conical body. Carefully she inserted each pebble as she went; one for pride, another for envy, wrath, sloth, greed, gluttony and lust. Not that the little mite would have a clue what they signified, but superstition was rife around Sedge Moor and tradition adhered to. Taking up the rest of the lengths, she plaited the seven canes so that they wrapped the seven virtues. Faith, hope, charity, fortitude, justice, prudence and temperance, she intoned as she wove.

‘How lovely to see a maiden reciting her virtues, and a beautiful one with tresses soft as silk.’ Eliza’s head snapped up, her eyes widening as she took in the tall young man silhouetted in the open doorway. With the sun burnishing his locks golden, she couldn’t help thinking how handsome he looked.

‘Oh, you startled me,’ she cried, jumping to her feet and brushing bits of bark from her skirt.

‘Then please accept my apologies. My horse cast a shoe some way back and whilst waiting for the farrier to attend him, I began exploring. Somehow, I found myself inexplicably drawn to all those funny trees standing alongside the water,’ he explained, gesturing towards the rhynes. ‘I mean, I know they’re willows but I’ve never seen them shaped in such a way.’ His voice was cultured and he spoke in a quick tone, quite unlike the local drawl.

‘They are pollarded in order to encourage new shoots to grow straight upwards.’

‘Gracious, I can see my education is sadly lacking,’ the man replied. She stared at him, wondering if he was making fun of her, but although his green eyes were twinkling, his expression was serious. He was immaculately dressed in clothes so well cut, she couldn’t begin to imagine how much they cost. Their eyes locked and she felt a tingling down her spine. She could see by the way he stared that he’d felt something too, but before she could think of what to say to dispel the intensity of the moment, his glance lowered to the withies in her hand.

‘I’m making a rattle for a baby,’ she explained.

‘Oh,’ he replied, a frown creasing his forehead.

‘Hence the virtues.’

‘Ah yes. Well, thank you again for the arboreal lesson, er … I didn’t catch your name?’

‘Eliza, sir, Eliza Priddle.’

‘A pretty name for a pretty young lady,’ he said, smiling so charmingly Eliza felt sparks closing the gap between them. ‘As soon as I arrive home, I will make it my business to enquire of our estate manager about pollarding. Now, please excuse me, I must away and collect my steed. He is apt to become more than a little spirited if kept waiting. Good day to you.’

‘Good day to you, sir. Do feel free to call by again,’ she added impulsively. Heavens, had she really said that? Whatever must he think of her? Yet even as she flinched at her forwardness, he turned.

‘Should I find myself around these parts again, I might just do that,’ he replied, his eyes locking with hers once more.

‘Oh, please do,’ she whispered, hugging her body and suddenly feeling more alive than she ever had before.

Humming happily, Eliza picked up the baby’s rattle, her thoughts racing as fast as her fingers plaited. What a charming man. And so beautifully dressed. She grimaced down at her old skirt, criss-crossed with snags where the withies had pulled at the threads. How she wished she’d been wearing something smarter and brighter. Even the new dress Grammer had made for her was a sober dove grey, befitting the position of a school helper. If those smart garments were what he wore for riding then she could only imagine how he dressed when formally attired. Where had he come from, she wondered. It was only then she realized that, overawed by his appearance, she hadn’t thought to ask his name. Still, he’d said he might call by again, hadn’t he? And he knew where to find her.

Staring down at the rattle, her eyes widened in surprise. She’d been so busy musing, she’d finished it without her movements registering. Impulsively, she began singing, shaking it in time to her tune.

Then, once again, Eliza found her light blocked by a figure in the doorway. Her heart flipped only to flop when she saw it was her gramfer.

‘Someone sounds happy,’ he murmured.

‘Oh Gramfer, it’s you,’ she sighed.

‘And who was you expectin’, the queen?’ he grinned. ‘Haven’t seen you this chirpy for ages. Why, your cheeks are as rosy as the apples in the orchard.’

‘Sorry Gramfer,’ Eliza murmured, guilty at being caught singing so soon after her grammer’s passing.

‘Well don’t be. Mary wouldn’t want either of us moping about the place. Life won’t be the same without her but we has to carry on. I see Clem’s delivered them turves. Inside, is he?’ Seeing his hopeful look, Eliza shook her head.

‘He said he had a lot to do. I don’t think he was expecting to be making a delivery here, especially peat on such a sunny day.’

‘Ah, well you know how quickly the weather can change this time of year.’ He turned away but not before she saw the flush creeping up his neck. So, her suspicions were correct, he had got Clem here under false pretences. ‘See you’ve finished that rattle so I’ll drop it into Mrs Finch. Hopefully she’ll have been doin’ some baking,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘I need to check how the beds on the northern boundary are comin’ along, anyhow.’

‘Well you’re the expert on all things arboreal,’ she told him, the pebbles jangling tunefully as she handed over the baby’s toy.

‘Yer what? Heavens girl, I don’t know where you gets fancy words like that from, I really don’t,’ he said, shaking his head. She was about to reply but as he shuffled back outside, she saw he was leaning heavily on his stick again and held her tongue.

Knowing he’d be gone for the rest of the day, Eliza decided to wash out the flour sack. She would make a start on her new top, just in case a certain stranger called by again, she thought, her heart flipping at the thought.

Hurrying indoors, she blinked as the peat smoke stung her eyes, then made her way up the steps and through to the tiny lean-to which her grammer had proudly referred to as the scullery. In reality it was little more than a glory hole that housed their dishes and mugs and a chipped sink with the wonkiest draining board alongside. Behind it was a store, grandly called the pantry, where their meagre provisions were set up on bricks to deter the marauding rats and other vermin that shared their damp environs.

Catching sight of her reflection in the old spotted mirror on the wall, she gasped. Her cheeks were smudged with smitch, while ashes and grass still clung to her windswept hair. To think the most attractive man she’d ever met had seen her looking like this. Clearly, it wasn’t only the flour sack that needed washing, she thought, lifting the old tin bath from its nails on the wall and dragging it in front of the smouldering fire. Snatching up the jug, she hurried outside to the barrel. It took quite a few journeys before she had sufficient rain water for it to be deep enough. Although it looked brown and uninviting, at least it would be soft.

It felt indulgent bathing in the middle of the day but needs must, she thought, climbing into the tub and laying back in the water. She’d bet her new flour sack that the handsome man never had to bathe in a smoky living room. Goodness, wherever did that notion spring from, she wondered, feeling the heat creep up her cheeks. His appearance had certainly stirred her emotions. Quickly she dunked her head but the cold water did nothing to deter the wild thoughts that were pounding her brain.

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